


AU Hogwart Snippets

by wanderlustlover



Series: AU Hogwarts [6]
Category: AU Hogwarts, Batman (Comics), DCU - Comicverse, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 11:45:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderlustlover/pseuds/wanderlustlover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Howgarts was a multi-fandom game where anyone from any canon could have been "tweaked" into being part of the Harry Potter Universe.</p><p>Most of them are focused on Jo and Dean's relationship after she graduated Hogwarts, but some of them are about the years in school focusing on Sokka, Leah & Jo, too. (And some later writings, to throw Steph in!)</p><p> </p><p>These are a collection of random snippets written not in the prompts, random throughout the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Graduation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Weaver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weaver/gifts).



"This will always be one of the best days of my life."

Jo grinned at Sokka, trying to shout that over the roar of festivities around then, even when she was barely feet away. Hogsmeade had exploded in an evening celebration of the graduation of the newest class. 

Tomorrow there would be packing. And the train. And the first ever real goodbyes to places and people they'd all known and grown up with. But today everyone in their class was running and laughing, drinking and playing still. 

Jo totally saw a good deal of the frivolity as their fault, too. Their last prank had been epic. Lee'd stolen and returned all the graduation hats. Sokka'd potioned them. Jo'd spelled them with Lee. 

And at the end of graduation every hat had turned into a small shiny house-colored dragon, zooming into the air and then they'd roared all at once before turning into a shower of flower petals that fell on everyone. 

And while usually their trifecta was quiet and smirky about their deeds -- they were graduated now, what was anyone going to do? -- and there was laughing, bowing, grinning, hugging. And flower petal bombing. 

 

Yes. Yes, indeed. One of the best ever.


	2. Small

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo Harvelle, The WHD, is small.
> 
> Smaller than most of the women Dean's been with.

Jo Harvelle, The WHD, is small.

Smaller than most of the women Dean's been with.

Small enough she should fit into the cradle of his arms, under his chin. He had that figured out, in a pinch, the first time she dragged him in for a kiss. The way you adjust. Accomidate. For height. For slender waifishness. For reach, and grasp, even just the length of bones.

Small enough you feel like you should hold on tighter so it doesn't slip away.

 

 

But staring at her now, in what little of his thoughts he can even keep straight, he thinks no one ever though to tell Jo this. Maybe no one ever had the time to. Maybe no one ever wanted to.

As she digs the tips of her nails into his sides and stomach for purchase in the middle of a racking shudder, when her back arches, throwing her head back, sending all of that golden hair like a cape of half-curls down her back and around her shoulders. The writhing stretch that causes her eyes to half close, delirious, drawing taut all the muscles of her stomach and thighs, even with the edge of sharpness still on her smile.

Even if this is right when control should fade, it's when she pushes harder, demands more, every muscle he'd once seen used in a fight, turned to riding his body, a complimentary whisper to how she storms the whole world, like she was born to take it all on, defying everything from control to quantum mechanics to the stretch of her own skin.  



	3. theif in the light

It's an average ordinary late night really, with no real plans and no one to drag him out.

Sam is busy with his own work, and Jo Harvelle, who hasn't quite become 'Jo' and not 'The Jo Harvelle,' isn't quite a regular part of his plans, but is starting to regularly appear in his designs and his weeks, said she'd said she'd still be gone another week past now last they'd talked of potentially meeting up again.

 

His boredom and lack of beer combined to realize the cupboards were bare.  
Which is why he's in the grocery store at eleven at night, tossing things in randomly.

Dean's staring at the shelf, squinting and trying to pick between three different labels, none of which he cares about when it happens in a flash. It's instinct when he turns too fast toward his cart, when something rushing, brushing by him jumps, for it.

But he isn't expecting her. That shock of blonde hair, tight shirt and blue jeans, and were those cowboy boots? That makes him hesitate, leaving him gaping as the girl and his cart go flying down the aisle beyond him like a missile. It's barely another two seconds before she looks back.

Flashing copper eyes and that twisted up little smug smile that already threatening to break loose. So intimate and devilish. Like she's informing, on the wings of her smirk, she's allowed to steal anything. His cart. His night. His weekend. His life. His heart. Like she's trying to tell him every second before this one, before the moment their eyes met, just now, was just a charade of shadow.

Even on a cart, flying down between the aisle walls toward -- and his eyes must have widened when he'd realized it, because she turned to look. But she turned to look too late. Really only having enough time to curl into the cart handle right as the cart slams into the first two racks of magazines. And topples others.

As well as his cart and her. It's a cacophony that probably scares every other person in the store. It sends him running, watching her fall down sprawling, and sometime seconds later he'll remember she's been through far worse. But it's still the same reaction. Even before she's getting to, rubbing her right elbow and looking momentarily chagrin until she realizes his feet are a few feet from her.

It's so damn adorably reckless, when all she does then, is put her hands down, lean back so her weight settles, like she's looking up from from the sand of a beach and not the disaster area of her own making and says, only, "Hey." Like she daring him to point it all out. Call her on any of it.

Making him snort, and then their both laughing. Still laughing when he holds out a hand, saying the same word back, so that she takes it to get pulled up from the mess of it all. Slipping on a magazine with her very first step, which almost sends them both toppling, but instead ends up with her in his arms, flat against his chest, grinning stupid and silly and laughter filled.

Beaming at the hilarity of it, and he would have kissed her without any further ado at all, or conversation, if the manager hadn't cleared his throat just then. Asking them to leave the store. And they both stared at him for the better part of a second before they were laughing again. Jo dragging Dean, to stumble away toward the sliding doors, both of them having to catch their breath.

"Sorry about your shopping," Jo says, rubbing her nose, and steaming the winter air with her breath, once they made it outside. But her eyes are brighter than than the high lamps and lanterns around them, and her cheeks still flushed from all of it.

When he throws an arm around her shoulder. "There are other stores."  
There are millions on millions of grocery stories in the world, for that matter.

And he'd get thrown out of every single one to watch her smile at him the way she did.


	4. wake me (before you go)

Jo stiffened awake, disoriented, one hand going for where her wand as the other pushed her up, to turn over. But she went still as quickly, and quietly, as she'd first moved, spotting the man sleeping next to her. She blinked and reached up to push her hair out of her face, glowering briefly at clock just behind him, before lowering herself back to the pillow.

His face was barely a foot a way. Irresolutely made of the shadows of night that shifted, just barely, as he went on breathing in and out unperturbed. There were too many fuzzy questions, but she ignored them watching him sleep. The calm peace that straightened all the lines and concerns away. But she only could so long.

Jo reached out to ruffle his hair, gently enough, leaning in a little as she said, quietly, "Wake up." 

There was an grumble, half shying away, half shaking off the movement of her hand, from the face burrowing into the pillow. "More hours."

"I only have a little over half of one left."

There was a silence. And Jo sighed. She'd probably lost him to sleep before he'd even heard it. Then, suddenly she grasped by his arm and pulled inward, under his arm, partially under him. Like maybe Dean could hoard her there. From the world, from duty, from everything and anything else.

Jo chuckled again, against his shoulder.  
"You should have woken me last night."

He turned his head more fully, squinting at her through the darkness, and the lack of wakefulness in pre-dawn hours, as Jo's eyes narrowed just as suddenly. "I tried."

She frowned. It was at least half for his words, this last week had been exhausting. And that did at least explain how she was fully clothed in the bed now, instead of in the living room. But the rest -- she fought an arm free, to raise her hand so that her finger tips rested under a thin closed gash on his cheek, a shadow that hadn't shifted with the darkness when he turned. "You we're hurt."

"S'nothing." Dean shook his head, even as he leaned against the touch a second later. "Probably almost gone already."

"I love how you ignore that entirely when I say it," Jo said, Wiggling upward a little, so she could get back to level with him.

"That's different."

Jo worked her shoulder and arm out of being pinned inside his arm and half under him, to rest her hand on the curve of his jaw. It was. And it wasn't. Maybe how, or how badly, or how normal, but not how it felt to see it. What it meant. What they risked.

Not just out there, but in being in this room, too.

"Try not to get more of these while I'm gone."

That seemed to emphasize the silence of night, and the whispering going on, even if they were the only people in the flat. He was back to actually looking at her through the pale darkness of the few inches between. Tired, but awareness there. "You coming back today?"

Which was off of several other questions it could have been. But she'd never headed off for anything proactively long with half an hours notice to him either. She did loved how the question sounded. It wasn't pleading. Just asking. And yet there was the markable note in it of wanting an obvious answer.

She leaned up and kissed the line on his cheek. "If I get a vote."

"Get a vote." Was the more insistent movement of his cheek brushing against hers as he spoke, while he wrapped his arms tighter around her.

Jo shook her head only once, barely moving since her head was right next to time, "Yes, sir." But she let her hand slip forward. Across the nap of his neck, tensing her grip just enough, as she hugged him back.


	5. And When it was Good, it was Very Very Good

"Jesus Christ. You do know how to knock, right?"

Jo smirked, even with the wand pointed at her. Maybe because of it.  
Since they stood in such opposition. Him with his cloak and wand.  
Her: barefoot, cloakless, drinking orange juice from the carton.

"What kind of super duper secret brit-witch spy would I be-" She set the carton on the kitchen counter, grinning sugar sweet and never missing a beat. "-if I couldn't break into my own boyfriends' flat without tripping off the alarms?"

The surprise and arrogance with like matching tides, "You missed the last one."

"Of course, I did." Jo brightened, smiling like gold, like a praised child, even as she stood there watching him. "If you were off doing something dark and dirty, you'd keep doing it, and if not, you'd be here in less than five minutes." Beat. "And you have so much to pay for." So serious. This last statement.

His look was answer enough. Riding a line between uncertain and ludicrous.

"You haven't touched me in two weeks."

Dean snorted, that bit of a laugh in his voice, the shake of his head, like she was insane, his kind of insane, as hi wand disappeared somewhere into that silently billowing cloak. "I'm pretty sure you were in Uzbekistan that whole time."

Jo's posture shifted to match his more than being held in check, half blankened. One hand tucking half in the pocket of her jeans. Matching the drop of a shoulder, tilt of her head, and the suddenly wickedly challenging look on her face. "Excuse, excuses."

He'd already cross most of the kitchen. "Boyfriend?"

"If you don't kiss me, I'll find another one who will.

"Liar."

"Maybe," was smart mouthed, even as her breath shook when his nose and forehead brushed hers. "But I'm-" Was all lost in the taste of Dean. The orange juice. All her words. The entire country of Uzbekistan.


End file.
